Life

Chapter I
Her reddish-blond hair made a halo around her face, creating the picture of sweet innocence. Her eyelids were closed, and her breathing was peaceful; her hands lay folded just under her breasts. Soft light touched her unconscious form, which lay nested in a luxurious bed draped all in black furs. He watched her, leaning in a corner away from the soft light. He was dressed as the chamber— his chamber— all in black. His hair fell around his shoulders, and his green eyes blazed from under his furrowed brows, intent on her. He didn't blink.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and her breathing faltered, became more fitful. Her eyes— which were also green, but blazed not as his— flashed around the room to the table beside her, on which lay a bottle. They next flitted to the black curtains which were undisturbed by breeze, for they yielded not to windows. Next, they found the weapons mounted on most of the walls. At last her eyes rested on him, but a shadow were it not for those haunting eyes. Startled, she sat bolt upright, the furs falling from her torso to reveal a red satin gown. Her eyes registered shock, and she fell back onto the pillows, having been met with excruciating pain. Once as still and silent as a statue, he bolted to her.
"Who are—?" She whispered. He shushed her. His eyes blazed with concern as his fingertips touched her jaw line. The thumb of the same hand stole a tear from that side of her face. She closed her eyes resignedly, breathing with much pain and difficulty. He brushed another tear from the other cheek with the back of his hand. His fingertips traced down her jaw line, and lingered for a moment at her neck. He pressed against her throat, at first gently, and then harder, eyeing her hungrily. Her eyes flashed open, desperate and entreating. His other hand flashed to the bottle. Her gaze left his face and followed the movements of that hand: first twisting the cap from the bottle, and then drawing a scrap of black fabric from the pocket of his trench coat. While he drenched the fabric in a strange liquid, his hand eased from her throat, and rested on her collarbone. He was only checking her pulse. He covered her nose and mouth with the fabric, and steeled himself against her struggle, but she did not have any strength to fight. His hand moved from her collarbone, and fanned out across her breasts, caressing one as she slipped back into unconsciousness.
"Rest, love," he said.
The next time she woke, she found herself in much the same condition, except that her arms had been bound above her to the headboard at the wrists. She tested them to no avail; they were sound. Sighing, she looked around the room, again, and to her bewilderment; there was no sign of the dark-garbed man. As if remembering a kiss, she shuddered at a newfound thought. Where was she? Where was he?
Before she had a chance to ponder more, the man entered the room. She gasped, masking the panic that briefly surfaced behind her eyes, because she knew better than to move sharply, remembering the pain when she had tried to sit up. She trembled from the helplessness of being bound, and from being injured past being able to fight. He responded by reaching into his trench coat, and producing the bottle, again.
"No!" She protested, forcing her voice to rise from her throat. She noted that he was not one to be commanded, as he seemed a little taken aback at her. "I mean, please don't. I want to stay awake. I won't fight you, I promise. Please," she begged with tears brimming behind her eyes. Perhaps it was that she had known not to command him, perhaps the tears that brimmed in her aching eyes, or simpler yet, her beauty, but the man (barely more than a monster) was touched by her plea. As he slowly restored the bottle to its pocket, he watched her breathing steady, and her muscles relax. The pain of each breath became more and more apparent on her face.
"I'll need to check your ribs, love," he said. "Do you trust me?" His eyes flickered to the pocket and dared her to say no. Trapped and injured, she simply nodded. "Then hold perfectly still," he said, from her bedside.
"As if I can move," she complained. "You've bound me!" He flashed her a warning glance threatening enough to make her flinch, as he brought the fur blanket down to just below her waist to reveal the red slip, again. It was the color of blood at a fresh wound, and edged in black lace. The garment ended just above her knees. No matter how beautiful, the slip disturbed her; she had not been wearing it before her injury, and imprisonment.
"Who are you?" She demanded.
"Perfectly still," he reminded her, coolly. "Don't speak." He laid his hands upon the sides of her ribcage, his long fingers reaching for her spine. Though he was very careful, and very quick, everywhere he touched erupted in the fire of pain. When he was finished, he replaced the black furs.
"May I speak?" She asked, panting. He nodded, taking a seat on the bed beside her. "What has happened to me?"
"You would ask that first," he grumbled, while he stroked her hair. "I... I attacked you, love." She shied from him. "No, please. You were in my territory. Alone. At night. I thought you were an intruder. I defend before I ask questions, love. Don't be angry. When I realized what you were, how perfect you are, it was too late; I had already hurt you. I won't ever hurt you again."
"How much damage have you done to me?" She peered into his perfect face.
"Two of your ribs are broken, the rest are cracked," he admitted.
"Why have you bound me?"
"I didn't want you to get startled and sit up like last time."
"I am not afraid of you, anymore," she said, measuring her words very carefully. "I am a prisoner to the pain you have dealt me. I cannot move. I cannot sit up. I cannot fight you. I cannot escape. Please, dark prince; will you please unbind me?"
He looked indecisive at first, but drew a dagger from his coat. Anger flashed behind his eyes. It didn't seem an unreasonable request, but not knowing his intentions, she trembled. "I thought you weren't afraid of me," he remarked, cutting the ropes.
"I thought so, too. Who are you?"
"Thanatos. Lord of this land. And you? What has brought you here?"
"I am Camilla; a loner, a huntress. I encountered a bobcat such that I had never seen before. It was black, with the iridescence of a raven's wing, and unusually small. It was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen."
"You were hunting my pet?" He asked angrily. The hand that did not caress her formed a fist, and the hand that did became more severe.
"No, no," she said hastily. "I do not kill extraordinary beasts."
"Good," he growled, but relaxed. "I would have had to kill you." She paled.
"The cat led me into a forest. It became dark quickly. Suddenly the cat just disappeared, and I was alone and lost. I had the feeling I was being hunted. Then, darkness, and pain."
"I was hunting, and I ran across you, love."
"What were you hunting?" She asked.
" Animals. People, when fools and intruders are near."
"To drink?" She pressed.
"Aye. To drink."